


The Fisher and the Selkie

by BeautifullyObsessed



Category: Celtic Mythology
Genre: Angst, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, NSFW, Romance, Selkies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifullyObsessed/pseuds/BeautifullyObsessed
Summary: Young Duncan Campbell must man his family’s fishing boat alone for a time, as both his father and older brother are too ill with the flux to work for their daily catch.  After several days of empty nets, he pulls in a surprisingly heavy catch, and finds something caught unexpectedly in his net. Takes place in Scotland, early 1600′s.
Relationships: Duncan Campbell/Merauda
Kudos: 6





	The Fisher and the Selkie

The sharp glints of the early summer sun dancing on the water were enough to make Duncan bleary eyed, as he cast his net for a third time, hoping this try would bring the harvest he so desperately needed. Da and his older brother Fergus had been down with the flux for over a week now---recovering slowly, but still as weak as newborn kittens---leaving him to man the family boat on his own. But he hadn't managed a decent catch in days and days. The family looked to him to provide; mam and grandmam, his three sisters, his oldest brother's widow and their five children, Fergus's growing family (there would be a new bairn by Midsummer, and from the way Isla was carrying, the village midwife was predicting twins), and assorted cousins. Too many hungry mouths, and all relying on him alone. But it couldn't be helped, and so Duncan was determined that _this_ day---God willing---he would finally succeed.

His homespun _leine_ was soaked through from his exertions, but he daren't strip down else the sunlight refelcting off the seawater would quickly leave him with a painful burn. The calluses upon his hands had grown tender as he did the work of three men; his arms and back ached so badly, he'd nearly gone through a full pot of Mam's special liniment---an amount meant to last a month or more uder normal conditions. Yet there could be no rest for the weary, not so long as there were so many empty bellies needed filling back home.

Duncan found a bit of relief when he took a seat in the shadow of his lone sail, finding the air noticably cooler as he set himself to mending one of his lesser nets. He had resolved to be patient and not to check on his potential catch too soon, so the mending---when done properly---would be a perfect distraction.

He was nearly done with his task when he noted a small change in the rhythmic rocking of his craft; there seemed to be a tugging on the leeward side, which indicated that the net was fairly full (with fish struggling against the mesh, trying to escape) or that something largish had been caught. Either way, Duncan was sure his family would be eating well tonight and in the days to come.

It was a heavy load alright, and Duncan strained hard to pull his catch from the water and onto the deck, fighting not only the ponderous weight---it had to be a good ten at least---but also the panicked thrashing of what was likely a much bigger fish than normally found in these waters. With a mighty grunt and a final, huge effort, he dragged the full net aboard, and then fell back onto his bottom, remaing there as he caught his breath from that rigorous task.

A quick appraisal of the contents left Duncan feeling proud and very relieved. This bounty would do more than feed his family; it would give them precious extra, which they could barter in the village for much needed supplies. Most of the fish had ceased their struggling as he stood above the net---the gills of those still alive quivering as, they too, finally succumbed to their fate. He'd need to sort through the lot and dispose of what wasn't worth the time to gut, before he began that work, which would probably take him the rest of the afternoon.

Once he loosed the net, a wealth of fish spilled forth as his feet---leaving a large form with flippers, tangled in the webbing. _That will need mending too_ , he mused, deciding that the cost of that chore was well worth what he'd reaped from the sea. "And just what do we have here," he murmured, clearing away the last dozen or so fish and the heap of kelp concealing his mystery catch. A seal. Duncan clapped his hands in delight, thinking of the amount of meat for smoking the creature would yield.

At that the seal swiveled it's head to look right up at Duncan with frightened, woebegone eyes, and uttered a series of desperate sounding barks, but fell silent when he knelt at it's side. Suddenly, the idea of bludgeoning it to death seemed the most dispicable act he could imagine.

By her silver-grey fur, he knew she was a female grey seal, by her size he guessed she was a juvenile. The poor thing was shaking and panting hard in her distress, and when Duncan laid his hand against her silky, wet fur, he found that her heartbeat was strong, but likely too rapid for her own good. “Och, aye…there, there, ye pretty lassie,” he tutted, seeking to soothe and calm the frightened beastie as he worked to release her without further damaging his precious net. “I swear I’ll have ye free of this in a nonce.” At that her trembling seemed to lessen, while she continued to track his every move with those large, doleful eyes; Duncan even fancied that she understood from his tone of voice what he was saying, and thus she was doing her best to be still enough to make his task easier.

And then of a sudden, she was fully disentangled and looking up at him, the fear that had gripped her melting away from her soft, dark eyes. Taken by surprise, Duncan could’t help but chuckle, “Aye, just as I promised ye–-safe ye are and safe ye’ll stay. But ye must beware the fisher nets, lassie. Not all men are as soft-hearted and as easily moved by a pretty pair of eyes as I am.”

She blinked those eyes several times, once again making him feel as though she followed exactly what he was saying. _I’m going daft from the sun baking the brain in me noggin’,_ he told himself; _there’s nae way this bonnie creature can follow a word I say!_ And yet she held his gaze a few moments more before settling her head against his open palm in a gesture that felt to him like gratitude, and then rolled away and over the side of his boat, barely creating a splash as she dove into the dark blue sea. Duncan watched her glide effortlessly away, just beneath the surface, until she popped her head above the water for one last look at him, before she sped away with all the grace granted to a child of the sea.

* * *

The Campbell family celebrated Duncan’s bountiful success that very night, and he basked in the approval of his father, having at last proven that he had the tenacity and skill to singlehandedly provide for those depending upon him. But he decided to keep the tale of his unusual encounter with the grey seal to himself--–half convinced by the time that he tethered his craft to the weathered jetty which his folk had used for two generations, that his imagination had gotten the best of him. He was not at all keen to allow his hard won admiration to be frittered away into the laughter such a ridiculous claim would inspire.

For three days more, Duncan returned to that patch of water where he had finally met success, and each time he spotted the same grey seal slicing through the water and splashing playfully off his bow. She never came closer than a few feet away, and always stayed on the far side from wherever he had cast his net, as though she had learned her lesson well enough to avoid getting entangled once again. Duncan soon started to think of her as his good luck charm, for his net always came up full whenever she was nearby.

Duncan often sang while he worked, sea shanties and traditional Celtic ditties, and he noticed that his new companion would draw even nearer when he sang, so that he began to pitch a song or two her way each day. Before too long he started to consider what to name her, eventually settling on _Merauda_ , as it meant ‘of the sea’.

Once his father and brother were well enough to rejoin in those daily labors, Merauda ceased her visits, perplexing Duncan and leaving him strangely disappointed. And in their presence, he kept his singing to himself, knowing he’d make himself the object of their ridicule otherwise. 

The weeks passed swiftly, and midsummer arrived, and with it a fierce heat wave that left folk short-tempered and uncomfortable. The longest day of the year was contentious in the Campbell household, due not only to the ungodly heat, but to Isla’s confinement since the twins birth two days before. Midsummer evening, Duncan took the opportunity to slip away, seeking cooler conditions out upon the water.

Alone under the cloudless night sky, the water so awash in moonlight and the sparkle of a thousand stars, and with no one around to inhibit him, Duncan was moved to sing again. At the top of his voice, he sang those old comforting, familiar songs that he had always loved best. And feeling rather lonely in the night, he sang those songs of longing and of unrequited love which were ever part and parcel of the poetry of his people. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep with the fading notes falling still, leaving only the lapping of the waves against the hull to fill the silence.

The creaking of the flooboards awoke him about an hour later, to find a pale figure standing at the bow of his boat, watching him intently. At first, Duncan thought he must be dreaming, but the soft ocean breeze that cooled his skin and the way his craft bobbed upon the waves felt far too real to be a dream. He would have called out to it, but he was too dumbfounded at first to question how-–with no land or other vessel in sight-–a stranger had boarded his craft. Goosebumps–-the precusor to recognition-–crawled across his skin as he realized it was a young woman.

Her dark, unbound hair fell halfway to her waist and her fair skin nearly shone by the light of the swollen moon that rode the sky above them. Her eyes were dark too, so dark that he could barely detect their whites, and she was standing there as naked and unashamed of it, as on the day that she was born.

Her breasts were round and full and tempting, and Duncan’s blood quickened at the thought of touching them; of cupping their succulent fullness in his palms, anticipating the sounds she might give over as he fondled her precious flesh. His mouth watered as he imagined tasting the sweet, tight buds of her nipples, and his cock grew hard as his eyes traced the curves of her dainty waist and slim hips, and down to her smooth, tempting thighs and the soft, dark thatch of hair between them, covering her mound. He’d had a fair share of village lasses and farmers’ daughters in recent years, but none as fair and beguiling as the vision that stood before him now. 

Pooled at her feet, Duncan marked a wonder out of myth that made his heart beat hard with blood already heated from just the sight of her. For the full moon’s light was more than enough for him to discern the familiar, dappled pelt of his much-missed, beloved pet. For a moment, his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth as his mind reached the inescapable conclusion. Her name escaped his lips in an incredulous whisper. “Merauda.”

She nodded her head, and smiled softly as she took a cautious step towards him on newly minted legs. “So ye have named me.” Her voice sounded a little rusty–-and if she were human, Duncan would assume it was from long disuse. He sat upright, afraid in part that he might break this inexplicable spell if he moved too abruptly, and repeated her name, “Merauda…how…how is this possible?”

“Ye were kind to me,” she answered softly, an unfamiliar but melodious accent colouring her words, “So very kind. And then ye gave me a mortal name.” Now she was only a few feet away, and he smelled those things he loved best about the sea–-clean, fresh air, the tang of salt, and the freedom he felt when he sailed alone-–on her very skin. “And ye sang for me in a voice both fair and true…”

“Aye…that I did, sweetling…” he replied, hypnotized by the same dolefulness in her widened eyes which he had seen in them as she lay tangled in his net.

“…ye sang of longing and loneliness…and…and of love…” 

She stood within his reach now, and Duncan’s fingers ached with his need to touch her unblemished skin, as she lowered her eyes tentatively and revealed her purpose to him, “There are none among my kind have ever touched my heart as ye have, Duncan Campbell.” She raised her eyes to his again, braving the possibility that he might reject her, and told him, “An’ I have come to ask if ye could love me too.”

The surprise and thrill of hearing his given name upon her pretty lips sent a wave of happiness coursing through him, and a heat beyond _anything_ he had felt for any lass he’d ever had, possessed him. _That’s lust_ , he told himself, _one of those wicked, deadly sins the pater always warns about._ But more than even that primal urge, Duncan felt something in his chest expand and give way, and in that instant–-as he rose to meet her and gazed up close into the dark, unfathomable depths of those soft and plaintive Selkie eyes–-he realized that he’d been pining badly for his Merauda for these past few weeks. And that as unnatural and surely damning as it was, he already loved her and wanted to have her forever as his own **…**

_(to be continued)_


End file.
